


And Life Will Turn a Better Page

by Lalalli



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-15 00:11:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14147664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalalli/pseuds/Lalalli
Summary: Accidentally making a baby isnt necessarily the most irresponsible thing Jemma and Fitz have done, but it’s pretty high up there.But Fitz seems to think that they can handle parenthood, and he’s a genius, so Jemma thinks that she can probably trust his analysis of the situation.





	And Life Will Turn a Better Page

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know why, but finding out that people really don’t like unplanned pregnancy as a trope made me really want to write an unplanned pregnancy fic. I was going to post it on April Fool’s Day, like, ‘surprise, I’ve finally written something new, oh wait, it’s dumb’. But then I decided that was a dumb idea too, so I’m just posting it today.
> 
> Also, I’m not sure what it says about me that this is the most autobiographical thing I’ve ever written, other than that I’m a mess.

Jemma Simmons can’t say that she ever thought that much about parenthood, but she always figured, in the back of her mind, that she’d someday be a mother. It’s probably a casual assumption that most kids have, before they really get a sense of what they want their life to look like.

And Jemma always knew what she wanted her professional life to look like - to be a scientist, discovering and inventing new things. And once she met Fitz, he slotted easily into place in the life she envisioned for herself, like a puzzle piece she didn’t realize was missing.

Honestly, between getting two Ph.D.s and becoming the youngest graduate of the Academy, she didn’t have a ton of time to think about her personal life. She dated Milton for a bit, hooked up when she needed that particular itch scratched, but other than that, her time and energy were better spent elsewhere.

So at 26, Jemma feels like she’s got a pretty good life. She’s reached most of her professional goals she’s set for herself, she’s happy in her lab with Fitz, and it seems like a good time to find some new goals. Maybe look into that work-life balance thing she’s heard so much about.

She’s always been ambitious, so it’s a bit surprising that she’s become so complacent in any aspect of her life. But it’s so easy to spend all her time with Fitz, going to museums together, ordering takeaway and binge-watching Chopped at home, going to brunch and matinees on Sundays. And once they start hooking up, Jemma pretty much stops going out on dates. Why would she bother with anything else when what she has with Fitz is so effortless?

It’s effortless, that is, until it’s not.

It’s still dark outside when Jemma storms into Fitz’s room, irrationally angry that he’s sleeping so peacefully. She knows his alarm clock is going to go off in twenty minutes, but this can’t wait. She might be panicking a bit. “Fitz!”

Jemma sits down on the edge of the mattress and taps his arm. “Fitz!”

He doesn’t stir.

She shakes his arm a little more violently. “Fitz! Wake up!”

He rolls over with a groan and covers his head with his pillow. Jemma yanks the pillow away from him and whacks him with it. “Fitz! I swear to God, if you don’t get up immediately -”

Fitz yawns, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. “Fine! I’m up!” His voice is hoarse, the way it always is when he first wakes up, and it very inconveniently reminds Jemma of all the times they’ve woken up together in the past few months. He pushes himself up a bit, still leaning back on his forearms. “What is it?”

Jemma throws the white plastic stick onto his lap and says accusingly, “You got me pregnant!”

Fitz sits up the rest of the way and stares at her. “You’re pregnant?”

Jemma breathes out sharply. “Yes.”

“You’re sure?” It’s dark, so it’s possible that Jemma’s imagining the small smile that’s forming on Fitz’s face.

“I’m sure. My boobs hurt and I’m two weeks late and I took a test this morning and it’s positive. I’m pregnant.”

Fitz reaches over to his nightstand and turns on his lamp. Jemma must have been mistaken about his smile earlier, because he’s frowning in consternation now. He picks up the pregnancy test and furrows his brow. “Only one test?”

“Really?” Jemma asks in disbelief. “ _That’s_ your question?”

“When have we ever trusted the result of a single trial? Which test did you use? The one in the pink box?”

Jemma blinks. “No. I got the one that was on sale.”

Fitz groans as he throws off his blanket. He’s only wearing his boxers. Jemma looks away. “C’mon,” Fitz sighs. “Let’s go to CVS.”

Fitz buys one of every single kind of pregnancy test on the shelf, a jug of orange juice because Jemma’s going to need to make a lot of pee, and a carton of ice cream for Jemma because she can’t believe that he’s going to make her pee on eight sticks.

It’s not until he’s looking at all the positive pregnancy tests lined up on the bathroom sink that Fitz believes her. “You’re pregnant,” he says, his voice full of wonder. He frames Jemma’s face with both hands and leans down to kiss her. Jemma stares up at him, incredibly confused. She hadn’t really thought much about how Fitz would react when she first stormed into his room, but she supposes that she assumed that he would be upset. Instead, he seems almost...happy.

Fitz leans his forehead against hers and lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t...I know you’re not thrilled about this. But I promise I’ll support whatever you decide to do. Keep it, abort it, give it up for adoption - whatever you want.”

It clicks. “You want to keep it?” Jemma asks.

Fitz pulls away from her with a sad smile. “It doesn’t matter. Really. Don’t worry about what I want. I know you probably have a plan for -”

“I didn’t,” Jemma interrupts. And it’s true. For all that Jemma Simmons excels at preparation, she doesn’t really have a plan for what comes next in her life. She’s satisfied professionally. She supposed that she wanted to start a family someday, but she assumed that would be far in the future. Not because she had anything she wanted to do first, but because it didn’t seem feasible. She wasn’t dating. She wasn’t serious about anyone. She assumed it would just happen when it happened.

And now, apparently, it’s happening.

“What do you want to do?” Fitz asks, taking her hands in his.

Jemma looks down at the line of tests on the sink. “I don’t know.”

*

Jemma makes a list of pros and cons.

Cons:

  1. Pregnancy would be quite inconvenient.
  2. The timing isn’t great.  (Well, it’s not so much the timing as the circumstances surrounding it. If she were in a serious relationship, she probably wouldn’t have a problem with the timing.)
  3. People might get judgmental about her being an unwed mother.  (But does she really care about what people think of her?)
  4. Her relationship with Fitz is already nebulous as it is - having a baby together would only complicate things more.
  5. She would have to take some time off work.
  6. She would have to use up all her sick days for maternity leave.  (But she has a lot of sick days saved up because she never gets sick.)
  7. She’d get stretch marks and her nipples will probably get all droopy.
  8. Babies are expensive.  (But she and Fitz are financially stable and can afford it.)



Pros:

  1. No period for nine months.
  2. She’d get to buy adorable tiny shoes.
  3. Tax breaks.
  4. Fitz would be really happy. He would also be a really great father.
  5. Her parents will stop nagging her for grandchildren. (This is admittedly not a great reason to have a child, but she feels like she should take it into account if she’s listing the opinions of strangers and acquaintances under ‘cons’.)
  6. She can finally catch up on The Crown during maternity leave.
  7. With her and Fitz as parents, the baby will probably end up be very, very smart.
  8. Babies are cute.
  9. She’ll get to be a mum.



In the end, what it comes down to is that Jemma wants to have a baby, and she’s not sure when she’ll get another chance. And even though she knows she could do it on her own if she really needed to, she also knows that Fitz will be involved. He wouldn’t know how not to be involved.

She thinks they could handle it. Fitz certainly seems to think they could handle it, and he’s a genius, so she can probably trust his analysis of the situation.

When Jemma tells Fitz that she’s decided to keep the baby, he pulls her close and kisses her breathless. It’s the second time he’s kissed her outside the context of their hookups.

He pulls away and rests his forehead against hers. “You won’t regret it,” he promises, as if she’s doing him a huge favor.

She leans up to kiss his forehead. “I know.”

*

Jemma doesn’t really have an excuse for not telling Fitz that she’s in love with him, other than that she’s incredibly busy. She’s too busy with pregnancy, with morning sickness and doctor visits and finding maternity clothes. She’s too busy with choosing the perfect stroller and car seat and reading every parenting book she can get her hands on. She’s too busy with moving into Fitz’s flat and baby-proofing all the cabinets and painting the nursery a lovely pale gray. She’s too busy getting scolded by Fitz for huffing paint fumes and lifting a box of dish towels and working through her lunch break when she gets too engrossed with the task at hand.

She tells herself that he probably already knows by the way she can’t stop leaning into him, snuggling into his chest at night, tracing his stubble with her fingertips. She tells herself there’s no way he hasn’t seen the look of awe that flits across her face when she wakes up in the morning and finds him next to her, no way he could ever miss the affection and fondness with which she says his name.

But honestly? She’s probably just too chickenshit.

She knows Fitz cares for her, knows that he’d spend the rest of his life with her even if they weren’t raising a kid together. She thinks that if she were to say it, he’d probably be happy about it, if a bit concerned that she’s saying it under the influence of hormones.

But she also worries that telling him would make him feel pressured to feel what he doesn’t really feel. Fitz would never want to hurt her. The last thing she wants if for him to offer to marry her just because it’s the right thing to do, just because he thinks it’s what she wants.

Because she really doesn’t need to marry him. All she needs is this. To wake up next to him in the morning and fall asleep next to him at night. To be his partner in the lab and his partner in parenting and his partner in watching Netflix on the couch while eating takeaway.

What she has is enough.

*

“Did you know that cows produce more milk when they listen to music?” Fitz asks, reading the Snapple cap as he hands Jemma her bottle of raspberry iced tea, the only drink she’s been able to keep down since discovering that morning sickness is not limited to the hours before noon.

“Fascinating,” Jemma manages, immediately clamping her mouth shut again to keep from gagging.

Fitz flops onto the other side of the couch from where Jemma is curled in the fetal position and picks up Jemma feet, depositing them into his lap. “Maybe we should run some trials on you when the kid comes,” he jokes, rubbing his thumbs into the arch of Jemma’s foot. “See if the phenomenon extends to humans.”

“I…” Jemma pauses. “I was going to say I hate you, but I’m really enjoying this foot rub, so I suppose I can tolerate you and your shitty sense of humor a little longer.”

“You love my sense of humor,” Fitz reminds Jemma, which is unfortunately true. She loves his shitty sense of humor and his endearing awkwardness and pretty much everything else about him.

Jemma just closes her eyes and leans her head against the arm of the couch. “Yeah.”

*

Their friends, understandably, are very confused about the whole situation.

Fitz and Jemma avoid telling anyone for as long as they can, but once Jemma starts showing, they decide to just tell everyone all at once so they can get all the jokes and comments and questions out of the way.

And there are definitely a lot of questions.

“So you’re having a baby together?”

“Yes.”

“But you’re not together?”

“No.”

“But you’re living together?”

“Yes.”

“And you weren’t dating before this?”

“No.”

“But you’re dating now?”

“Um. No. Not really.”

Everyone seems to erupt at that.

“How can you ‘not really’ be dating someone?”

“So this _wasn’t_ planned?”

“Was this some kind of ‘Jane the Virgin’ accidental fertilization thing?”

“How long exactly have you guys been doing this ‘not really’ dating thing?”

“How can two geniuses be so incompetent about feelings?”

Fitz and Jemma exchange looks of alarm. Jemma shrugs. Fitz clears his throat. “Uh, it’s complicated, no, definitely not, about fourteen months, and no comment.”

There’s a long and awkward silence. Daisy and Mack exchange looks. Mack huffs and rubs his palm over his head. “Look, it’s just that this is kind of a lot. Even for you guys. No offense.”

Fitz and Jemma let out simultaneous sighs, in sync as always. “Yeah, we know,” Jemma admits. “None taken.”

*

As soon as the morning sickness abates, the next side effect of pregnancy is a lot less uncomfortable, though no less inconvenient.

“Again?” Fitz asks incredulously when Jemma flings herself at him as soon as they get home from work.

Jemma starts unbuttoning his shirt in response. “Pretty soon I’m going to be too big for this, so we have to cram it in while we can.”

Fitz laughs at her choice of words, even as he pushes up the hem of her blouse.

Jemma rolls her eyes. “Shut up. You know what I mean.”

Jemma doesn’t know why it’s so easy to proposition him, yet so difficult to define their relationship. They live together, share a bed every night, are about to have a baby together, yet they’ve never exchanged any “I love you”s or given any verbal indication that they’d like to date or settle down together or be serious about each other in any romantic capacity. They should probably figure it out before the baby gets here, but...it’s easier to ignore it.

The sunlight peeking through their window is still soft and pale yellow when Fitz shakes Jemma awake the next morning. “C’mon. Time to go for a walk.”

Jemma rolls onto her side, turning away from Fitz. “No, thank you,” she mumbles into her pillow.

The mattress dips behind her back. “Exercise is important.”

“I can exercise in here.”

Jemma feels his fingers, gentle and warm, smooth her hair back from her face. “Here in the apartment or here in the bed?” Fitz teases.

Jemma wiggles her eyebrows suggestively without opening her eyes.

Fitz snorts, amused. “Well, I’ll leave you to it, then.” He stands up and Jemma opens her eyes so she can grab his wrist.

“I could use an exercise buddy.”

Fitz grins and leans down to kiss her. “Only if you agree to be my exercise buddy when I go for a walk later.”

Jemma huffs, impatient. “Fine, whatever, just take off your shirt already.”

*

  
Jemma’s always been cautious, in every aspect of her life. The exception is with Fitz.

Strangely, it’s the feeling of safety that makes Jemma so reckless. It’s easy to walk across a tightrope when there’s a safety net to break your fall.

It’s why one month into their friends-with-benefits arrangement, when Fitz discovered they’re out of condoms after they’d already stripped off all their clothes and were pressed together skin to skin, Jemma scraped her teeth against his shoulder and groaned, “I mean, we can pull out just this once, right?”

This is not when she got pregnant.

She went on the pill immediately after, but then ended up on antibiotics six months later for a respiratory infection. She spent eight days coughing up technicolor phlegm, then practically jumped Fitz the moment she was feeling better, she was so sexually frustrated. She completely forgot that the antibiotics made her birth control less effective until they’re lying in bed together, sweaty and sated.

This is not when she got pregnant.

But the incident was at the forefront of her mind a couple months later when she decided to get an IUD. Her doctor told her she’d have to come back in ten days because they didn’t have any in stock, and they needed to get approval from her insurance anyways.

She got her period the day after her appointment, then had sex with a Fitz the day after her period ended. She went to the pharmacy the next day to pick up her birth control refill, only to discover that they couldn’t give it to her.

“The system says you have an IUD,” the pharmacist explained.

Jemma frowned. “I mean, I requested one, but it hasn’t been inserted yet.”

“Well, insurance won’t cover two different forms of birth control.” Jemma wanted to argue, but it wasn’t like that was going to help the situation. She just reminded herself that her appointment was in five days and tried not to worry about it. They could just use condoms in the meantime.

They could have skipped the condoms. She was already pregnant.

*

Jemma knows that pregnancy is a big deal to a lot of people. She’s seen those women on Facebook, who post week-by-week photographic updates on the growth of their bumps. She’s seen pictures of all sorts of celebrations, from pregnancy announcement parties to baby showers to baby moons to those parties where they open a box and either pink or blue balloons fly out (which she has a problem with because who knows if their future child will even identify with the gender they’re assigned at birth and pink and blue are very gender-normative and helium is a limited resource, so it’s just a bad idea all around). One of her pregnant coworkers last year bragged that she has never felt as strong or as beautiful as when she’s pregnant.

Jemma is very happy for those women, even though she finds it difficult to celebrate her pregnancy in the same way. At first, she thought it was just the unplanned nature of the pregnancy or the increased hormones that make her grumpy. But now that she’s days away from her due date, she’s convinced that pregnancy, objectively speaking, sucks.

Well, maybe not objectively. After all, every pregnancy is different. And who knows, maybe there are women out there who like that they can’t go anywhere without a stranger assuming that having a protruding belly is an open invitation to rub it. Jemma’s not really a fan, but she tries not to judge other people’s kinks.

She’s also tired of only being able to sleep on her side, and hates that once she settles in for the night, she’s stuck in that position because turning to her other side is a Herculean feat. Her feet swell to the point that she can’t fit into any shoes, and her ankles swell to the point that she can’t fit them through her pant legs, and she hates wearing her maternity dresses because her thighs rub together uncomfortably. She can’t bend down to pick something up if she drops it on the floor and she can’t even put on her knickers without Fitz guiding her feet in through the leg holes and pulling the waistband up her hips.

And to her increasing annoyance, everyone keeps telling her that she’s glowing (which she’s not; she’s sweating because she walked from her lab to the bathroom and back again, and that was enough exercise to make her feel like she just completed the Tour de France) and that she’s never looked more beautiful (which she takes as a personal insult, because she likes to think that she was pretty attractive before she blew up like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man).

And the most frustrating part of all is that through the whole thing, Fitz is _perfect_. He’s attentive and rubs her feet and buys her gummy prenatal vitamins. He never once says “ _we’re_ pregnant”, and whenever someone praises him for going to all of Jemma’s doctor appointments, he points out that Jemma is also going to all the doctor appointments. She couldn’t ask for a more supportive partner.

Which is why it’s so disappointing when he proposes at Panera.

“Do you reckon we should get married?”

Jemma nearly chokes on her mac and cheese. “Excuse me?”

Fitz shrugs, casually taking a sip of his Diet Coke as though he hadn’t just proposed. “I mean, it makes sense, right? We’re having a kid, you’ve moved in, we’re gonna have to start paying for diapers and daycare. We might as well get the tax breaks.”

Jemma’s heart sinks. “You want to get married...for tax breaks?”

Fitz tilts his head, a curious expression on his face. “That’s if we’re looking at it from a purely practical standpoint. From a purely impractical standpoint, I want to get married because I’m in love with you.” He says it so flippantly that Jemma’s certain she misheard him.

“You’re in love with me?” Jemma repeats slowly, the words strange and unfamiliar in her mouth. “Are you sure it’s not just because-”

Fitz gives her a sad smile. “It’s not new. Just...it wasn’t necessarily relevant information until just now.”

Jemma lets out a strangled laugh, because nothing could be more relevant than that. She feels peculiar, as though she’s not in complete control of her body. She’s lost control of her heart, beating wildly and erratically, of her lungs, straining to take in air, of her bladder…

Oh, wait. That’s not her bladder. That’s just her water breaking.

*

This is how it started.

They went to Hunter and Daisy’s apartment for New Year’s Eve because, as the two people in their friend group who love parties and alcohol the most, they are the self-appointed official party planners. As usual, Daisy tried to designate a theme (1920s Art Deco, like Gatsby, but without all the infidelity and death), which Hunter resolutely refused to follow because “dressing up is stupid and there’s nothing wrong with getting our decorations from the dollar bin at Target.” As a result, all of Daisy’s friends came dressed in drop-waist dresses covered in fringe and strings of pearls, while Hunter’s friends arrived looking and smelling like they just finished a rugby game at the park.

Bobbi was there, even though she and Hunter were “off again” at the time, and they were doing their usual quixotic mating ritual thing where they get overcompetitive about the most bizarre things, which that night was who could make the grossest cocktail using all the weird cheap alcohol Hunter got from the bodega down the street.

Fitzsimmons were roped into being judges because Hunter was convinced that Jemma’s expertise in biochemistry would make her more likely to appreciate his concoctions. “Balance is important, right?” Hunter slurred. “I remember that. Balancing all those equations, and like PH and shit. My drinks are SO balanced.” They were also practically phosphorescent, but Jemma figured that took a certain amount of skill.

Hunter and Bobbi didn’t stick around to find out who won, preferring instead to retreat to Hunter’s room to have hate sex, leaving Jemma and Fitz leaning against each other in the kitchen while everyone else counted down to midnight in the living room.

_Ten...nine..._

“You know, they say that what you’re doing at midnight is what you’ll be doing for the rest of the year,” Jemma told Fitz.

_...seven...six..._

Fitz scrunched his face. “So trying desperately not to throw up?”

_...four...three..._

Jemma grabbed his hand and beamed at him. “Hanging out with me.”

_...two...one…_

Fitz smiled down at Jemma as everyone erupted into cheers. “Happy New Year, Jemma.”

Jemma leaned up to peck Fitz’s lips. They were soft and warm, and Jemma found her smile slipping from her face as she pulled away to look at him. Fitz was frowning too, his eyes roving over her face. Jemma’s gaze dropped back to his lips, and she knew that he knew because he inhaled sharply and -

It was utterly graceless, the way they sprung back together, all teeth and tongues and spit, all fumbling hands and stumbling feet. They left without saying goodbye to anyone, and when they woke up together in the morning, it was only with the haziest of memories.

Which, as they were both naked and Fitz’s morning wood was pressed up against Jemma’s thigh, they figured they might as well make more, less hazy memories.

As it turned out, Jemma was right. What they did at midnight was how they spent the rest of the year.

*

Birth is...exhausting.

Jemma knows she should be excited. She knows she should be appreciating this special time in her life, or whatever. She knows that when she’s handed Jane, swaddled in blankets, to cradle in her arms, she’s supposed to fall in love at first sight.

But instead, she’s fairly positive she’s fucking it all up.

The baby is red and wrinkly and loud and Jemma keeps on worrying she’s going to accidentally break her as she manhandles her into different positions to get her to latch on to her boobs. Jemma knows she’s supposed to spend time cooing at her and admiring her, but the moment Jane is born, Jemma’s entire existence is reduced to being her food source.

And just like that, it stops mattering that Jemma has two Ph.D.s or that she’s a brilliant scientist, or even that she’s kind or funny or compassionate. All that matters is that she is effective at feeding Jane.

But the thing is, she’s not. Jane just keeps on crying and losing weight and the doctor tells Jemma that she should supplement with formula but then the lactation consultant tells her that formula is poison and she should just try using the football hold again because that seemed to be effective last time, so defining her relationship with Fitz is honestly the last thing on her mind.

And Jemma feels like she really shouldn’t be so overwhelmed, because even though feeding Jane keeps her busy, Fitz is doing literally everything else. At the hospital, he fills out all the paperwork and gives Jane his finger to squeeze every time a nurse needs to draw blood or give a shot. Once they return to their home, he changes every single diaper, burps her after every feeding, rocks her to sleep at night, and gently gives her er sponge baths.

“It’s okay,” Fitz says soothingly, when Jemma breaks down sobbing one night, apologizing for being useless, exhausted because she’s still breastfeeding every two hours while pumping in between to make supplemental breast milk. He gently pushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re not useless. You did all the work for nine months; I’m just catching up.”

The next day, Fitz comes home with a case of liquid formula. “It’s more expensive, but less likely to become contaminated,” he explains as he pours some into a bottle. “Not that I think there’s anything wrong with powdered formula, but I thought you’d appreciate one less thing to worry about.”

“But -”

“You know, while I was up with Jane last night,” Fitz continues as though he hadn’t heard Jemma at all, “I read a lot of articles about how even though breast milk is superior to formula, the margin by which it’s better has been significantly overstated. And also, there are a lot of scary articles of babies who starved because of militant attitudes towards breastfeeding.” He sits on the couch next to Jemma, his expression soft and cautious, and reaches over to take Jane from her arms. “Look, if it goes wrong, I’ll take the blame, okay?”

Jemma blinks, and it’s like all her exhaustion and self-blame and frustration and fear and gratitude and love catch up to her in that one moment. She throws her arms around Fitz, which is a bit awkward because he’s busy feeding Jane, and buries her face in his neck. “I love you, Fitz.”

She feels a Fitz stiffen. “You don’t have to - ”

“I do have to,” Jemma insists. “It’s the truth.”

“Jem, you’re exhausted and -”

Jemma pulls away from him so she can look at him. “It’s the truth, okay? Just because it took me forever to say it, doesn’t make it less true.”

The corners of Fitz’s mouth curl up in a small semblance of a smile. “Okay.” He tilts his head down so he can kiss her hairline. “I believe you.”

Jemma rests her head on his shoulder. “Good. You should.”

*

The doctor clears Jemma for sex again six weeks later. Which isn’t to say that Jemma immediately goes home and has sex with Fitz for the first time in what seems like forever, because there’s the not so insignificant challenge that carving out enough time for sex when there’s a newborn to care for is just about impossible.

All the same, she’s enjoying all the easy and casual affection she’d been missing before. As much as she misses the sex, it seems somewhat miraculous that she gets to exchange short pecks on the lips with Fitz when one of them leaves or to murmur absent “I love you”s as they fall asleep at night. She spent so much time telling herself that sex and friendship was enough for her - that it was practically the same as being in an actual romantic relationship with Fitz - that she didn’t realize what she was actually missing. A lot is admittedly the same - they’re still best friends, after all, so they still bicker and laugh at inside jokes and watch Netflix while eating more takeaway than is probably advisable. But now there are so many small touches and words in the moments in between. They add up to far more than she could have ever imagined.

And to be honest, even though she knows that Fitz loves her, Jemma’s a bit worried Fitz won’t really want her anymore. Her nether regions spent about a month spurting out uterine lining like Mount Vesuvius and she has stretch marks all over her stomach and thighs and her nipples are all dark and dry and cracked.

So Jemma’s simultaneously relieved and panicked when Fitz unexpectedly joins her in the middle of her shower when Jane is 14 weeks old.

Fitz grins down at Jemma and plants his hands on her hips. “Guess who just fell asleep.” He leans down to kiss her without waiting for a response.

It’s embarrassing how quickly she gets wound up. “Just let me finish up and then maybe we can try having sex?” Jemma suggests.

“Or we can multitask.” Fitz’s hands slide up to her breasts, palming them gently. “I really missed these. I never get to see them unless you’re feeding Jane.”

Jemma ruts up against his thigh. “That’s because they’re always leaking milk.”

Fitz snorts. “Hot.”

“Shut up. They don’t exist for your gratifi- what are you doing?” Jemma asks in alarm as Fitz drops to his knees.

Fitz brushes his lips over the stretch marks on her thighs. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“You really want to? Even after everything that’s come out of there?”

Fitz nudges her legs apart with his hands. “Exactly. It’s had a rough few weeks. I think it deserves something nice.”

And, well. Who could argue with logic like that?

*

“Do you reckon we should get married?” Jemma asks over breakfast three months later.

Fitz chokes on his coffee. Jemma may or may not have deliberately planned it that way. She feeds Jane another spoonful of cereal while she waits for him to recover. Jane is pretty content most of the time, as long as she’s not hungry. It makes parenting easier, now that Jane is smiling and babbling all the time.

“That’s how you’re proposing?” Fitz teases. “I always imagined a flash mob would be involved.”

Jemma rolls her eyes. “This is still your proposal. I’m just checking to see if it’s still on the table.”

Fitz grins. “In that case, let me have another go at it. I was trying to appeal to your practicality last time, but I can do better.”

“It doesn’t need to be better. We’re a family. What could be better than that?” Jemma points out, pragmatic as always.

“Yeah,” Fitz agrees. “It’s the best.”


End file.
